Holding Her
by CandyRain
Summary: From the last scene of "Requiem" on. Different character POV in each chapter. Rating changed for language.
1. 1 Bruce's POV

Disclaimer:  I don't own Judging Amy or its characters.

A.N. I wrote this right after "Requiem" but held off posting it in hopes that it would develop into a multi-chapter story.  I guess it just wasn't meant to be.

I didn't have a plan.  I didn't know what I was going to say; I just knew I needed to go.  She would have done no less for me if the situation had been reversed.

            It was late when I stopped my car in front of the house, but I could see light coming through the living room window.  I walked to the door, rang the doorbell, and waited.  When she opened the door, the pain in her eyes went straight to my heart.  "Judge Gray, I'm sorry, I just heard."

            And then she was in my arms. And she was trembling, and I could feel her warm tears beginning to soak through my coat and shirt.  I closed my eyes.  I was at a complete loss for words.  All I could do was hold her.

            When I opened my eyes, I saw Stu.  He was just standing there, watching her . . . with me.  Then he met my gaze over her shoulder.  He didn't seem surprised by my presence or by the fact that my arms seemed to involuntarily tighten around her as the two of us continued to stare at one another.  Neither of us said anything, he just kept standing there and I just kept holding her.


	2. 2 Stu's POV

A.N. I thought that this was going to be a ficlet, but after a year my muse came back.  I'm hoping to tell the rest of this story using different POV's for each chapter.

Stu's POV

One week later

            I walk into Amy's chambers.  She's not at her desk.  I glance over to the table across from it and see Bruce.

            "Judge Gray went to the cafeteria with Donna," he says.

            "Thanks," I say turning to leave.  Then I stop.  My mind goes back to Bruce's visit to Amy's house last week after Jared died.  It didn't feel right to me.  I've been trying to decide whether or not I should address it.  I decide to bite the bullet.  "Bruce, do you have a minute?"

            He looks up at me warily.  I know that he doesn't trust me.

            "It's about Amy," I elaborate.

            "What about her?" he asks.

            How do I get my point across without sounding like a petty, jealous idiot?  "I just want you to know that I can take care of her."

            "Excuse me?" he leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

            I let out a sigh.  Somehow I knew that this wouldn't be easy.  "I know the two of you are close," I start, "and for a while you were the only man around when she needed a shoulder to cry on or whatever, but now – "

            "Is this about last week?" he interrupts me.

            I want to say, "Yeah, it is, that and the lunches, and the looks, and the jokes, and all the other stuff that goes along with the relationship the two of you have."  Instead I say, "Partly.  I understand you felt the need to be there for her, and I appreciate that –"

            "But," he interrupts again.

            I wish he wouldn't do that.  I continue, "_But_ Amy has me now.  I was there for her last week." 

I can see that he's angry now, and I'm glad we're on opposite sides of the room.

            "Look, we're both adults here," he says, "so how about you just be a man, say what you mean, and save the tact for someone who doesn't _know_ you're an ass."

            He just called me an ass, and if I didn't already think that he disliked me I just got my proof.  I just can't believe he's actually gonna make me spell this out to him.  "Fine, Bruce, you want the simple version.  I'm telling you to butt out of Amy's life.  She's not your responsibility."

            A throat clears behind me, and Bruce and I both turn to face the door.

            Amy's eyes are blazing, and Donna mumbles something about an urgent phone call before scurrying out of the room.  Bruce pulls on his jacket and slips past me toward the door.  He stops in front of her, and I can read the question in his eyes as well as she can.  She gives him a slight nod in answer, and he walks out.  The click of the door, as he pulls it shut behind him, releases Amy's rage.

            "What the hell was that?!!!"

            Now I have to figure out how to explain myself to her.  "Amy, that wasn't what you think it was."

            She has walked around to sit behind her desk, and I recognize that it's her way of setting a boundary.  I know this is one time, if any, to respect that boundary; I stay in front of the desk; I'm keeping my distance.

            "Well, how about you tell me what it _was_, and I'll tell you if that's what I thought it was!"

            Shit! This is bad.  "Well," I start slowly, "I was trying to explain to Bruce that you have someone . . . me, to . . . that you're not his responsibility . . . that you have me to . . . ."

            She leans forward in her chair.  "To do what Stu?  I'm a grown woman!  I'm not anyone's responsibility!  Bruce is my friend.  He's been there for me during times when I didn't have anyone else and you just told him to stay out of my life like some . . . some jealous teenager!"

            I want to deny it, but I can tell she doesn't want to hear it.  "That's not the way I meant for it to come across," I say.  "Amy, I had no intention of coming in here and playing the overbearing caveman."

            "I know you didn't, Stu, but that's the problem," she runs her fingers through her hair with an exasperated sigh.  "You're controlling and you don't mean to be.  That's just the way you are.  You want things your way and . . . and you don't take anyone else's opinions into account because you can't allow for the possibility that your way might not be _the_ best way."

            I'm floored.  She's not mad at me, exactly, the look on her face is one of disappointment, the way a mother looks at a child who has misbehaved.  Part of me feels relieved, I'm off the hook, but a much larger part feels like a steaming pile of . . . something.  In her eyes, my actions aren't worth, thought, consideration, they are obstacles to be explained away.  Boy, we've got some kind of relationship.

            "And you've felt this way how long now?"  I'm failing miserably at masking my bruised ego.

            "A while," she answers without acknowledging my change in tone or mood, allowing me just a shred of my dignity.  "I just kept telling myself that sooner or later you'd realize it and change."

            I fight the urge to bring some of her flaws into the conflict.  I take a deep breath and resolve to be bigger than that.  Once I exhale, I manage to voice the question that I think is on both our minds.  "So what does this mean for us?"  She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head wearily.  I take that as a signal to continue, "Well, honestly, Amy, knowing how you feel, I don't think I'd be comfortable continuing this relationship."

            "Okay."

            Her answer is not unexpected, but her seemingly emotionless acceptance of our breakup doesn't do much for my self esteem.  "Fine," I reply.  "Then I guess this is it."

            'At least she didn't try that 'let's be friends' crap,' I think as I walk out the door.


End file.
